Queen of the Potomac
by tealeeches
Summary: Escaping from Vault 101 was no easy task. In fact it was just as mentally draining as it was physically. Now, tasked with finding her father, Eleanor sets out on a journey that will change her life forever. Eventual LW/Charon ship. Slow burn it out. Rated M due to the nature of the Fallout series.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: WOW. I've been meaning to finish this first chapter up and get it posted for a LONG while. Basically, this will turn into a F!LW/Charon fic eventually. Slow burn. Basically what you'd expect from me. That being said, I have various other things coming up, including my TESIV fic (first chapter will be posted very soon, if not today at some point). Anyhow, enjoy! Reviews and critiques are always appreciated.**

* * *

"Ellie? Ellie! Wake up! Eleanore! Please, you have to get up right now!"

Elenore groaned and pulled her blankets over her head in an attempt to ignore the girl.

"No!" Amata shouted, pulling them off and onto the floor.

"The fuck d'ya want?! It's too early for this: get the fuck outta here," she ordered, sitting up.

"Your dad is gone! He left the vault!"

"Ha-ha. Fuckin' funny."

"I'm serious, Ellie. Your dad left, Jonas is dead! And now my dad wants you."

"The fuck'd I do?" Eleanore snorted as she slowly clamored out of bed. What a great way to be woken up. She'd grab a jumpsuit from her dresser and pull it to her hips, tying the sleeves together, forming makeshift pants before slipping her boots on, not bothering to tie the laces. She completely ignored what Amata had said. Jonas? Killed? Hell, perhaps this was some sick joke. She knew other's in the vault were prone to making up stories, concocted by the drive to sate one's own mental illnesses. Really, Ellie had come to this conclusion. Amata was going crazy. Maybe her father was too, but it'd be like any other morning: woken up rudely and dragged to breakfast—or lunch if she so happened to wake up late.

"I don't know, but you have to get out. I'll help you."

"Yeah, okay. Ya do that." More unclear answers. Fantastic. This had to be a disgusting joke. She'd go to the mess hall. Both her dad and Jonas would be chatting over eggs and toast, yolks soaking into the bread, making it a sick yellow color and mostly unedible. She'd leave and find Butch, maybe punch him in the arm a bit harder than intended, and call him an insufferable asshole—lovingly, of course. Then she'd slowly waltz into her shitty job at the diner, late as per usual. Get splashed with hot oil, steal her weight in fries, make snotty remarks to anyone who tried to argue with her over the counter. She'd eventually return to her room, break out an unmarked bottle of some kind of alcohol, and down the contents before staying up for most of the night writing and drawing and making a mess with paint. Pass out. Begin the cycle again.

"What's for breakfast?" she asked, examining herself in a mirror. She tied up her hair with one of Susie Mack's ribbons: stolen, of course.

"This is serious, Ellie!" the other yelled. "Jonas is dead! Your dad left you here. My dad wants you dead too! He's sent his men to find and kill you!"

It was then, Eleanor noticed the blaring siren echoing throughout the metal tomb, red lights flashing and reflecting off the walls. Turning slowly to her friend, her face twisted. She was more alert.

"You're not jokin', are you? Is this a joke? Are you jus' bein' an asshole?"

Amata's eyes grew wide. She looked infuriated, scowling and shaking. "No! Why would I make this up? This is serious. I'm serious, and my father is too. He's not gonna rest until you're dead! You need to leave!"

Well, damn. Ellie was perplexed. No one ever left the vault. Hell, no one came in either. Everyone who she knew of was born there, and would die there—just like the rest before them, sent to a firy tomb in the crematory that no one ever spoke of.

"And what's he gonna do when he finds out you're helpin' me?" she asked, pacing around, gears turning within the confines of her mind.

"That doesn't matter. He can't do anything to me," Amata reassured her. Maybe she was right. Then again, Ellie knew that leaders could snap and kill their young. "There's a secret tunnel in his office that'll take you to the entrance. That's your best bet. But, you'll either need the password or you'll have to hack the terminal."

"Anythin' else? Like maybe the fuckin' password? I'd like to hurry up and get outta here before your maniac father kills me."

A small part of her still tried to say this was all a cruel prank, probably instigated by Butch. But, sirens? The PA system on loop? She couldn't help but feel the small lump of anger growing in her throat, leaking into her stomach.

"I don't know the password. But, I—I stole this from him," Amata stuttered, pulling a small pistol from her jumpsuit. She handed it to Eleanor, who, in turn, examined it thoroughly. It fit quite naturally in her hand. She'd no idea how to use it. The BB gun she had laying around was nothing compared to this. "I have extra ammo too. Please, don't use it unless you absolutely have to."

"I'm fuckin' up anyone who gets in my way, Amata. With or without th' gun."

"Fine, just—don't hurt my dad. I might be able to try to talk some sense into him."

"Sure. Don't kill the guy who's tryin'a kill me. Whatever," Ellie said, rolling watery eyes as she tucked the gun into the waistband created by the arms of her jumpsuit. She gathered the rest of her things: a small bag, baseball bat, BB gun, a few Stims; and pushed passed Amata.

The vault's security system had shut almost every door, leaving the halls lit only by flashing, red lights. Radroaches scurried back and forth across the halls: open targets for Ellie to nail with her bat. Time spent in the vault's baseball team seemed to finally pay off. She was more of a pitcher, but it was a lie when she said she wasn't much of a batter. With each swing, the insects' gusts few down the corridor, like a ketchup packet being crushed by a boot. What a pathetic attempt at covering up his real motive. An infestation?

No. It was most definitely under control.

"Hey! You there!"

An officer ran toward her, baton drawn and ready to strike. With little force, Ellie sent her bat colliding with his head, knocking off his helmet. The officer staggered backward a bit before falling against the wall.

She stammered and stood in one place, shocked. Nudging the officer with her foot, he slumped over and onto the floor. Ellie brought her hand to her mouth, a stifled gasp resonating throughout the hall. Was he—dead? She killed him. One hit to his temple downed the man, brainwashed and manipulated by a madman.

There wasn't much time to gawk, or apologize for that matter. Perhaps the girl who cared so little had finally met her downfall. Unable to do much more than slowly walk, she pressed on, trying to forget what she'd done.

For a brief second, she ran into Butch, fussing and screaming about how his mom was being attacked by the roaches—and how he was afraid of them. She thought quickly, deciding to sock him in the jaw before throwing her BB gun at him. It seemed to make up for everything he'd done to her, and what she'd done to him. Pained, but grateful, he shucked his jacket off in an attempt to make a trade. Though it smelled like vodka and pomade, Ellie threw it on herself. The thin layer of protection was better than none. She told him to take care of his mother, and himself. It was the best she could do, given the situation. For all the residents knew, her father escaped the vault, letting the roaches in. Lies—constructed to hide whatever motives this fuck had. She'd always heard people talking about her dad: how he was the one who brought on all of the vault's troubles. How? They'd always lived there, right?

No one enters, and no one leaves.

Heading closer and closer to the Overseer's office, she found herself being gunned down by officers she once trusted. In return, she was forced to shoot back, killing most. Blood speckled the walls, pooled on the floor. Ellie stepped carelessly through it, leaving crimson footprints behind her. She smelled like copper, red adorning her skin and clothing like freckles. She heard more of the Overseer's goons running in her general direction, and she couldn't stay to be remorseful for what she'd done. She was a murderer now, at least in the eyes of everyone she once trusted. It was all far too insane. The vault was insane, and her escape wasn't all she thought it would be. It was like she was a rat, cornered and cowering in a desperate attempt to break free.

"Turn yourself in, and everything will be fine."

More lies. Now with tears threatening to pour out of her eyes, she spat in the Overseer's face before killing his "bodyguard," beating him to death with her bat. Brains splattering. Bone flying out in chunks. Gore sticking to her hair.

"I'm leavin', you—you fuckin' psychopath," she sneered, choking on her words. Fuck, she didn't sound as tough as she thought she was.

She bolted from the room toward his office. Frantically, she searched lockers for anything that'd give her entry to this "secret tunnel." Papers littered the floor, along with clip boards, hidden rations, photos of each and every vault resident. A password.

"Fuck, open up!"

With shaking hands, she punched in the combination of letters.

A. M. A. T. A.

How fucking stupid. How simple. Anyone could have broken in and found the tunnel and all of the vault's plans.

With a hiss and screech, the desk in the center of the office rose from its position, and the floor spread to reveal a set of stairs. That was—odd. Something unexpected, though within the past half-hour, Ellie had come to expect the unexpected. Quickly, she near jumped the full length of the staircase, running for the iron door it concealed. This was it: the last mad dash to freedom. She took it, pulling open the heavy door as fast as she possibly could. And there before her, at the end of a long tunnel, laid the entrance: a large, gear shaped door inscribed with the number '101'. She heard guards shouting, trying to find her—and she smashed the blinking, red button with the palm of her hand. Another siren blared. More red lights. Metal screeching. Wailing. In her shock and awe, she hadn't even realized Amata standing behind her.

"Holy shit. You opened the door," she said, eyes wide as ever.

"Yeah," Ellie replied with a whisper. "Get the fuck outta here while ya can."

With that, she strode toward the now opened door just as the guards were pouring in and overpowering the other girl. Behind her, a few gunshots were fired, and the door was sealed once again. Amata wasn't escaping with her. She wasn't even sure if she'd survived.

"Oh my God. I—I ain't in the vault," she thought out loud, noticing the skeletons littering the small cave she'd entered. "The fuck'd happen?"

The skeletal remains held signs, or at least used to. The deceased had begged to be let inside. It was worse than she thought. Ellie had no clue what it would be like on the outside, and so far, she was left with a bad taste in her mouth. She continued walking, a pit forming in her stomach as a slatted door grew closer and closer to her. Her steps echoed within the small cave—more of a tunnel, if anything. Did she really want to go outside? See the sun? Grass? Trees? What if there was nothing out there at all—just vast expanses of white?

With little effort, she cracked the barrier, and quickly closed it.

"I can't fuckin' do this," she mumbled, rubbing her eyes, though she was only trying to prevent tears from dripping onto her face. Pissed and alone, she drove the toe of her boot into a skull, sending it flying toward the vault door. The dirtied thing splintered upon contact. How long had these bodies been laying here? They must've been Pre-War. Ellie hadn't originally thought of how many people were once in the vault. She'd read somewhere that it was once overpopulated, and not everyone made it inside when the first bombs fell.

But now? Now there were so few people, quiet debates passed between residents, arguing about whether or not the door should be opened. Deep within the confines of her mind, Eleanor knew the door would have to be opened at some point. They'd all starve or become a pack of rabid inbreds if it wasn't. Cannibals, maybe.

For a long while, she sat with her back to the wall, rocking back and forth, or dozing in and out of sleep. She'd even fallen to her side, knees brought to her chest, and sobbed into the dirt. She'd never smelled earth before. There must've been life beyond that door, but she still couldn't bring herself to venture past it. In fact, she had to force herself to even stand and touch the damned thing again. All she'd know was the feeling of cold metal and concrete. Sheets stale with the scent of old soap and linen spray—coarse and riddled with holes. Outside of the vault was, of course, so foreign to her. Dirt. Unfiltered air. She could even hear the wind whistling.

It was the light though, casting through cracks in the brittle wood, that prompted her to finally step outside. It gave her a headache, but she was nonetheless intrigued. There was something about it not being fluorescent. Strange, but not unpleasant. Slowly, egged on by curiosity, the barrier was opened. Ellie tried to shield her eyes, but to no avail. It was like bombs were raining down, creating a continuous onslaught of explosions and light.

She was blinded.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: As per usual, R&R is appreciated!**

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She wanted to go back already.

Her vision was still white as she stumbled out into the world, like a child being born again. Squinting, Ellie tried to make out shapes and colors, though the task proved difficult. She questioned herself, wondering if she'd died while escaping, or if she'd died in her sleep. All was far too surreal. Slowly, her vision blurred, white dissipating. She could see brown for miles, buildings scattered and broken. A kind of smog hung over the land, lightly tinted with green—a strange hue. Rubbing her eyes, expelling excess water, she was finally able to get a good look at the world around her.

What had happened to the America she'd heard stories about? She knew bombs had fallen two-hundred years prior, but the destruction and chaos they caused—she couldn't believe it. The air smelled crisp and sweet, but toxic as well—almost like cyanide, but far more ruddy.

Like rust and illness.

The girl's nose crinkled as she looked around. A small collection of houses stood erect in front of her, though most were destroyed, only the frames intact. Dirty, mangled and in heaps. Eleanor knew right then that the Great War really had been as devastating as she was lead to believe, though the stories hadn't prepared her for actually witnessing the destruction. How could humans even live out in a place so barren and dead?

Gripping the handle of her bat, Ellie moved down the side of the cliff she stood on, slowly, terrified she'd be shot at or attacked and dragged away by some monster. Boots stomping heavily, kicking up dirt and rocks, she found a road leading toward the cluster of homes, and she followed it.

Curious.

She could hear music in the distance, coming from the destruction ahead of her. Bat at the ready, she moved forward slowly. Something was flying around.

"What the fuck," she whispered, watching it move closer and closer. The voice of an old man projected from a kind of—robot, it seemed.

"_Put your faith in John Henry Eden, great America, and baseball will live again! Comfort, recreation, healthy competition - all will live again! This country WILL live again!"_

"H—hello?"

There was no response. Only music, oddly patriotic, came from the orb. It didn't even seem to notice the taller-than-average girl as it whizzed by, twitching and bobbing along in the wind. Ellie had never seen anything like that before: a flying, talking ball of whatever it was, complete with antenna. A radio of some sorts.

"Who is John Henry Eden?" she thought aloud, staring at the bot from over her shoulder. Was he some supreme overlord of the destroyed world? Shaking and terrified, she pressed forward through the ruins, hair standing on her arms and the back of her neck.

But—there was a certain eerie charm about the place.

From the corner of her eye, she spotted a soda machine, sitting underneath some large, metal construct. Finally, something familiar from the vault. Padding over, she checked to make sure it was safe, and then went to work. She shook the machine, kicked it, and smashed her bat into it before breaking the lock, resulting in the door flying open. Startled by the outcome, and from almost being sent flying backwards by her own stupidity, she dragged a hand down her face, scratching at the skin harder than she meant to.

She scoured over the contents, finding three sodas and a grouping of bottle caps. Quickly, she stuffed all of her findings into the small bag she had on her, and continued down the road.

Ellie hadn't even noticed the large sign at the end of her path before she ran flat into it. She'd been looking at her Pip-Boy, trying to find any signal that could be connected to her dad. Only smacking into the sign brought her back to the present, and she stepped back. It'd clearly been placed there after the war . . . long after the war, though it was just as decrepit and rusted as everything else she'd come into contact with.

MEGATON—written poorly with some kind of homemade paint, along with an arrow pointing to her right. She peered over toward where she was being directed, only to see metal rising from the earth. Wary, but wanting to investigate, she walked slowly toward the mass. From the pits of the apocalypse, walls made of steel soared above, dwarfing the young girl like she was just a speck of dirt on a pane of glass. They must've rose a good fifty feet toward the sky. Centered, was what appeared to be a part from an airplane, rigged to chains and cables. A familiar robot stood guard, greeting her in a monotone voice. Ellie hadn't even seen the sniper above her, moving to open a pair of large doors, as she was too perplexed by what was in front of her.

The motor that'd once been still began turning and creaking, speed growing until a gust of hot air wracked the vault dweller's body, sending hair that had escaped the bun on top her her head back, flicking at her neck and shoulders. The gates whined and protested against the sudden movement, as though they hadn't been opened in decades. Nonetheless, they obeyed the motor, revealing another gate for her to pass through.

Hesitant, but hoping for some kind of safe feeling, she strode forward and under the sniper's nest. Bits of dirt and rust fell on her like snow. Maybe those gates hadn't been opened in years. The inner doors were a task to slip through—heavy and old—pipes for handles.

Once inside, Eleanore's senses were overloaded. The same sickly sweet smell lingered in the air, mixed with foreign food, leather, some kind of _shit_. She stood in one spot, staring at everything she could see from the top of the hill. Crater. There was a bomb at the center of this strange town. Eyes wide and doe-like, she wanted to turn and leave. But, he might have passed through. Someone may have seen him, even spoken with him. And she had nowhere else to go.

Not paying much attention to the massive constructs around her, she walked down the hill, thus bumping into an older man—clad in a duster and cowboy hat. He was like one of the men she'd read about in those old Western novels.

"Pardon me, ma'am," he said, tipping his hat. "Say, you're new 'round here, ain't'cha?"

Fumbling over her words, bat over her shoulder, she tried to speak, though it came out mostly as nonsense. "Iyes. IamI think. Neverbeenhereno."

"Slow down there, girl. Hey, you're from one of them Vaults. What brings you here?" the man responded, gesturing to the vault suit tied around her waist.

"Y—yeah. I am. I'm lookin' for my dad. Middle-aged, gray hair. Seen him?" She asked, trying to calm down.

"Can't say I have," he responded, rubbing his chin in thought. "I'm Lucas Simms. Mayor, and sheriff if I have to be."

"I'm Eleanor. Please, if ya can remember anythin', I need to know."

"Maybe. I do remember someone like him passin' through here not too long ago. Didn't stay long. He was up in Moriarty's saloon for a while. I'd check with him."

Finally, a lead.

"That's good. Thank you," she said. "Wh—what is this place?"

"This here's Megaton, named after the old bomb down there. Those crazies from the Church of Atom worship the damned thing. It hasn't posed any threat yet, but if someone rigged the thing to blow, well, we'd all be dead meat."

It was still active? How? Oh, how the vaultie panicked, though it was purely mental.

"Hasn't anyone tried to disarm it?"

"Nope. I don't trust none of these people with it. But, you're not from 'round here. I'd let you take a crack at it. Might be some caps in it for you if you can disarm it."

"Caps?"

Shit. He'd forgotten. Vaultie. Those folks knew nothing about the Wasteland economics.

Simms dug into his own pockets and plucked out a bottle cap, bent up and beaten.

"They're used as money. Pre-War currency's been phased out. So, someone decided one day to use bottle caps off of old sodas. I'd say they work just fine."

Eleanor nodded, examining the small bit of metal he held between his fingers. Though strange, it seemed to make sense.

"So," she started, face twisting in all sorts of ways, "if I wanted to buy, say, a really big gun, I'd have to lug around a huge bag of those?"

"Yup."

Eyes squinting and brow furrowing, she nodded again. She should've expected that answer.

"I should probably go talk to that Moriarty guy then," she announced, fumbling with what little she had.

"He's your best shot. But be careful 'round him. Shady guy, if you ask me. If you need supplies, Craterside Supply is right up the ramp there," Simms said, pointing in the general direction he spoke of. "Moira runs the place. Strangest woman I've ever met."

"Alright. Thanks—again."

She watched as Simms walked by her, continuing his rounds as though she'd lived there her whole life. It was a pleasant surprise, to say the least. She watched the man round a corner and disappear before heading up the ramp he'd pointed to. She'd half ignored the cow beside the ramp, only stopping to watch it once she noticed it had two heads. Sputtering like an idiot, she passed without saying a word.

It was crazy—how man had built all of what surrounded her.

Homes. Shops. Bars.

Everything she encountered was held together with rivets, welded into place, tied off with thick, steel cord. At first, she was afraid she'd stir the whole town with her boots connecting to the metal, but as she listened closely to the world around her, the same echoes could be heard from all reaches of the town.

Eleanor was more comfortable, though still terrified out of her mind. She still shivered. Still considered that she might just be dead and in Hell, though the place didn't seem all that bad. All she could go on were stories told to her by her father and other residents inside of the vault. Most had been horrific.

But now, she didn't think they were right about it all. Humanity had carried on, though it seemed to be hanging on by a thread.


	3. Chapter 3

Dust. Grime. Filth.

From the moment she'd set foot inside the supply shop, she wanted to sneeze. The whole room was badly cluttered—disorganized with anything and everything strewn around carelessly. Some supply shop, it was. The whole place just looked like a wreck. Standing on one wall, was a man, tall and not paying much attention to Ellie. He'd given her a quick and scrutinizing glare when she walked in, but nothing more. One other person fiddled around, sweeping and rearranging items, making an even bigger mess. The woman didn't seem phased by the vaultie's presence until Eleanor cleared her throat, trying to expel the dust that'd collected in her lungs.

"Oh! Hello there!" she piped. Her demeanor immediately annoyed the other girl. "What can I do for you, stranger? Oh! You're that kid from the vault everyone's been talking about!"

She already wished she had let the Overseer maim and kill her. If everyone was going to beat the whole "kid from the vault" thing to death, well, she'd rather spend an eternity burning up in the crematory.

"Yeah," she said quickly, slightly rolling her eyes. The other woman didn't notice, too tasked on examining everything about her.

"I haven't seen one of you in ages! It must be hard for you out here!"

"Sure."

"You know, I'm writing a book! It's about how to survive out in the Wasteland. Maybe you could give me something for a forward!"

Oh, fuck. She knew right then she was about to get tangled up into something she really didn't want to deal with.

"I'm Ellie."

"Right! I forgot to introduce myself. How stupid of me! Moira Brown. I'm pleased to meet you!"

Again, the tall girl rolled her eyes, now trying to make her annoyance known. And again, it didn't work. She simply stood by the door and watched as this clearly insane woman rounded up a scrap sheet of paper and pencil, eager to take notes.

"So! Tell me about yourself! What's it like living in one of those vaults?"

"Well—" Oh, this was great. She leaned on the counter, resting her chin in a cupped hand. "In all honesty, it's terrible. The light gave me headaches. The food is older than anythin' I've seen out here so far. The people are batshit crazy. They make ya go to work when ya turn ten. It's cold 'n' cramped. Everythin' smells like stale soap and antiseptic—"

"How terrible!" Moira interrupted. Ellie peered at her writing, large and sloppy letter scrolled across the paper. "But I guess it'll make for a great forward! Nothing wrong with letting people know to stay away from the vaults!"

"Sure. Hey, is that a vault suit up there?"

"That old thing? Some lady came through here a long time ago. She was like you. I told her I'd alter it for her, but she never came back. Poor girl must've died out there."

Ellie nodded, still eyeing in suspiciously.

"Why don't you take it. I'm sure she doesn't need it anymore!"

Caught off guard, the old suit had been tossed at her. She didn't want the thing, really, but the pauldron had caught her eye. She wouldn't say so, strangely not wanting to offend the other woman.

"Thanks, I guess," she mumbled, folding it up. "You don't have anythin' extra cheap here, do ya? I ain't got a lot of mo—caps right now."

She maybe had ten bottle caps on her person, scattered at the bottom of her bag. At least back in the vault, no matter how screwed up it had been, she didn't need to worry about buying food and water. Guns and ammunition weren't needed. Clothing was provided. She had a home. But now? Now she was alone. She had no one to help her. No one gave two shits about what became of her. This was one fucked up way to have to grow up and face reality.

Moira mumbled as she checked over what appeared to be a list of what she had in stock, nose twitching like a rabbit's. "Well . . . considering your situation, I'll give you a couple things free! But, you might want to try scavenging around for supplies until you can get on your feet."

Ellie blinked a few times, face void of all expression. The other woman scattered a few ammo clips and bottles of water on the counter. Fuck. She'd need to find a bigger bag.

"Scavenging? Where? How?"

"Sorry! Again! Whoops, I keep forgetting. You go out, and—look for stuff! Hm. You can check out the old Super-Duper Mart! It's not too far from here. If you travel East from here, you should find it with no problem!"

"Okay. Thanks."

Cramming what she'd been given into her bag proved difficult, as everything near spilled out. She had to force the buckle closed to keep the contents within. With that she left without another word. She then wondered where she'd sleep, bathe, brush her teeth—all of the small things she one had taken for granted. She felt hollow and lost. Daddy wasn't there to guide her. In the end, he wound up to be selfish, leaving her alone and in danger. She thought that he meant well up until she emerged from the tomb she once called home. What kind of father put their child in that much peril? With a huff, she decided it was time to pay this Moriarty a visit, and perhaps find a place to hunker down for the night, though it was not even noon.

Quick steps led her to the saloon. Not surprisingly, it was just a tad cleaner than Moira's shop, though it reeked of alcohol and smoke. Just her kind of place. Quietly, she observed a woman and some strange looking man bickering over a radio. Oh god, he didn't have a nose. What kind of shit went down in there? It took her a good while to notice how scarred and deformed he was: something she'd never seen before. With her interests peaked, she approached him cautiously.

"Excuse me," she mumbled. He didn't respond. He had no ears! She shook her head and looked past it all. "H—hello? Excuse me!"

The man jumped, and tried to play it off by turning to her and resting his forearms on the counter.

Ellie slid onto a barstool before speaking, bag clanking and smacking her leg with force. She winced, and proceeded to mirror the man's stance.

"What?" he asked, voice snippy and raspy. He must have taken her expression as disgust. "Ain't ever seen a ghoul before?"

"A—a what?"

"A ghoul."

"No? I can't say I know what you're talkin' 'bout."

He looked genuinely surprised, shocked even.

"Not all of us got to hole up in one of them cushy vaults when the bombs fell. Most of us look like rotting corpses now."

"O—oh."

"You really haven't seen a ghoul before?"

"No. I—I'm from a vault," she said, cringing as the words passed through her lips.

"And you're not gonna look at me funny? Make an asshole comment? Yell? Freak out?"

"I wasn't plannin' on it, no. I ain't got nothin' against ya."

She shrugged and sputtered, rubbing her arms.

Gob himself just stared at the girl, confused as all hell.

"You need a drink, smoothskin?"

"What?" she said, tilting her head. "Fuck, nevermind. Look, my dad came through here not too long ago. I was told he was up here talkin' to that Moriarty guy. Did ya see him?"

"Yeah, I think I did. But Moriarty would know more about it, especially if he talked to your dad. He should be out front. Can't really say much else. I'll have my ass handed to me."

"Fuck. Okay."

Eleanor had wanted to avoid contact with the man Simms had told her about, but now it seem like she had not choice. She stood, bag swinging around and tumbling into her leg once more. Flinging open the door, she quickly decided that she'd greet this man as though she knew him personally, to test the waters. As the bartender—Gob, as she overheard—said, he was standing right outside, chain-smoking himself into oblivion.

"Moriarty!" she near yelled, a hint of threat hidden in the word.

"Well, if it isn't the wee baby girl, all grown up!"

God damnit.

"What the fuck do you mean?"

No. She wasn't going to play nice.

"I remember when you were just a little thing, kickin' 'round in your daddy's arms."

"Cut the shit. If you know him, where the fuck is he?"

"Ah, I can't give you information without gettin' somethin' in return, now can I?"

Her eyes rolled, almost involuntarily. She could almost feel them bulging out of her skull.

"I swear on the fuckin' ground I walk on, if you don't tell me where the fuck he is I will burn your fuckin' shit hole to the ground."

"Easy there, lass," he stammered, backing himself to the railing he previously leaned against. "You do something for me, I'll do something for you."

"No, fuck you," she spat, cracking her knuckles as she did. A notable change occurred in the mans face, as she towered above him. He may have actually been scared. She really wasn't going to let up. "I ain't a fuckin' toy. Where the fuck is he?"

"He was here, yes, but now he's not. Simple as that. Now are ya gonna leave me alone?"

"No. Where is he. Tell me where the hell he went and I'll leave you alone. I'm not playing along with your bullshit games."

"Said somethin 'bout goin' into the ruins t' find that diskjockey Three Dog," he replied, nodding over in the general direction. "He clearly didn't raise ya all too well if your talkin' to an old man like ya are."

"No, the selfish piece of shit didn't. Thank you, and goodbye."

She turned on her heel and stomped away, feeling both accomplished and defeated. She'd scored another lead, but was nowhere near to finding her father. Her pace slowing, she walked down the edge of the crater, looking for anywhere to go. She thought of that two-headed cow, and made her way toward the beast, sitting yards from it in the dirt, but close enough to actually examine it. The thing had no hair, replaced with a thick, ruddy hide. Tumors covered the skin, bubbling and filled with greenish-yellow liquid. She assumed she should've been shocked by it, but she oddly wasn't. The beast looked—down—for lack of a better word. How she found common ground with an animal was beyond her, but that common ground was there. She felt like livestock, wallowing in pity for herself. But it had food and water and a place to sleep and someone to care for it. She had—nothing, beside what Moira had given her. Maybe the crazy lady wasn't all that bad.

Humbled by a fucking cow—cows.


End file.
